Blindside
by Vancouver-Canuck-Girl
Summary: Sometimes the one you fall for isn't ready to catch you.
Many thanks to BelieveitorNot, Capricorn75, Honeybeemeadows not only for their editing skills, but mostly for their friendship. Love you. This is a one-shot I wrote to challenge myself in the angst genre. Thank you for reading.

* * *

Isabella Swan is my favorite kind of forever. I became infatuated with her when she sat criss-cross applesauce beside me on the first day of Kindergarten. I tugged her pigtails at recess and chased her around the school grounds at lunch. "Edward, that's not appropriate," Mrs. Cope said whenever I tried to kiss Bella, which was often.

When I was eight, I made Bella a big construction paper heart for Valentine's day. "You have the prettiest eyeballs I've ever seen," I wrote. It's a sentiment I stand by, all these years later.

I asked her to be my girlfriend in the fourth grade; she informed me boys were gross.

In seventh grade, I was still enchanted. I pushed Tyler Crowley out of line just so Bella and I could be paired up as square dancing partners. My hands were clammy, and I had two left feet, but doing the do-si-do with her was the highlight of my year.

I signed up for ballet classes just so I could see her in a tutu. I followed her home from school, even though she lived on the opposite side of town from my house, hoping she would one day allow me to carry her backpack.

From junior high through graduation, I asked Bella to every dance, homecoming, and prom. She turned me down time and time and time again.

"You're a nice, guy, Edward. One day you'll find the perfect girl," she said.

"I already have."

"But I only like you as a friend."

"And I like you more than that."

"Edward, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. One day you're going to say yes."

I was not deterred because I knew I was irrevocably in love with her. I had faith she would get tired of saying no, and we'd go on a magical date where she'd fall as head over heels for me as I was for her. There was never a doubt in my mind.

Our final year of high school, I politely declined invitations from three different girls who asked me to go to senior prom with them, holding out hope that Bella would be my date. Instead, she agreed to go with Mike Newton. When he stood her up, it was my number she called. Mine!

My father's suit, circa 1975, was two sizes too big. With the pant legs rolled up and the sleeves cuffed, I looked ridiculous. I knocked on the Swans' front door anyway. Bella's eyes were puffy, and her makeup was smudged, but she was still the most beautiful girl in the world. I folded her into my arms as she dissolved into tears. We skipped prom and had dinner at an Italian restaurant in Port Angeles instead.

Over tiramisu, I told Bella I loved her. She laughed it off.

When we went out the next night, I told her again.

The night after that, I did the same.

Six weeks later, she uttered those three words back to me and we were engaged the following year. I worked ten hours a day, six days a week, for eleven months straight, pinching every penny so I could present her with the perfect ring. The proposal was storybook—literally. I borrowed one of Bella's cheesy romance novels and copied the proposal straight from the pages of the book. Candlelight dinner at a five-star restaurant, followed by a romantic walk on the beach. As the sun dipped into the ocean, I got down on bended knee.

"Will you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming Mrs. Edward Cullen?"

She cried as she said yes, and I slipped the ring onto her finger.

Her father argued we were too young to marry and insisted upon a long engagement. It didn't matter to me. I'd wait five times that, as long as she was mine for eternity. Bella, however, defied her father and we planned for a June wedding.

Now, six months after I asked her to be my wife, the pathway to our happily ever lies before us.

Standing at at the front of the church, I itch to loosen the bow tie which is threatening to choke me of my last breath. I fight the urge, squaring my jaw and keeping my eyes straight ahead. Emmett, Jasper, and Jake flank my side, all fidgeting slightly—another side effect of the rental tux and constricting tie. It's stuffy in the church, but I don't know if it's me, the situation, or if the June temperature has climbed to unseasonably warm.

Music floats through the pews, wafts up to the vaulted ceilings, and reverberates off the stained glass windows. The sun shines through them, casting a myriad of colors into the church, bathing the guests and plush carpet in rainbows.

Everything is, I hope, exactly how Bella wishes it to be. Years of tearing pictures out of bridal magazines and doodling her name as Mrs. So-and-So in elaborate hearts on random scraps of paper. Months of planning and meetings with caterers, photographers, dieting, and dress fittings. Everything culminates in this one, monumental day.

Today is for her.

She told me she always dreamed of a white, extravagant gown, her hair in curls cascading down her back, a bouquet of fragrant lilies clutched in her hand. She'll be wearing her mother's veil as her _something old_. Her dress and lace garter belt both serve as her _something new_. Wrapped around the stem of her bouquet will be a hankie, her _something borrowed_ from her grandmother.

Bella still wasn't sure what her _something blue_ would be, but I couldn't wait to discover what it was.

Bella envisioned herself gliding down the aisle, her arm linked through the crook of her father's. She would follow the wake of her bridesmaids, maid of honor, ring bearer, and flower girl; walking past aunts, uncles, and lifelong friends who would dab their eyes with Kleenex. Her father would kiss her cheek before he shook the hand of the tall, dark and handsome man who, in a moment's time, will become her forever.

That's me.

Although this day is a fairytale for her, it's where I find my happily ever after, too. I don't need all the fanfare—the archway of flowers, fancy dresses, tuxedos, or the over-priced chocolate fountain waiting for us at the reception—I only need her.

I will only ever need her.

Even at my my bachelor party, when my friends tried to cast doubt upon the validity of my upcoming nuptials, I never wavered in my love for Bella. Under the influence of copious amounts of booze, Jake was the first to slur his opinion on marriage.

"Getting married means no more flings with a coworker, no more Starbucks pickups, and bye bye one-night stands. Sex with just one person for the rest. _Of. Your. Life._ Dude, variety is the spice of life. Spice is also the name of the stripper who could be dancing on your lap and slipping you her cell number."

I shook my head. "I don't want anyone else. I only want Bella."

Jasper spoke up next. "Marriage is a constant compromise. Life is meant to be lived, to experience everything before we up and die. It's hard to accomplish all of that when you spend half the time doing things someone else wants to do."

"Doing what Bella wants makes me happy."

Jake rolled his eyes. "What if she wants to watch a chick flick movie marathon on the Women's Network? Would that make you happy?"

I shrugged. "It would probably get me laid."

"Yeah, boring marriage sex. Missionary position then spooning in bed. No more fucking or wham-bam-thank you ma'am."

"Some of us like the missionary position," Emmett argued, proving why he was my best man.

"Do you know how many marriages end in divorce?" Jasper asked. "Fifty percent. Fifty!"

"That's not going to happen to us."

"Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

"Yeah, I guess it is. That's the beauty of the risk—the reward could be great."

Jake looked thoughtful as he took a pull from his beer. "I guess, but It could also break your heart."

I'd scoffed because that was a ludicrous statement. The guys, besides Emmett, couldn't comprehend the depth of love Bella and I shared.

We are one of the once-in-a-lifetime romances Nicholas Sparks writes about.

* * *

The music rises, gaining my attention, and every head turns towards the back of the church. Angela makes her way down the aisle first. She's smiling, but the bouquet is shaking in her hands. I smile, letting her know she's doing great. As she takes her place at the front of the church, Alice begins her journey. She seems to float in those ridiculous high heels. I know she's enjoying the attention. Next up is Rosalie. Beside me, Emmett gasps. It's no wonder why. She looks stunning—a runway model in a designer gown. Her eyes are steadfast on his. No doubt she is imagining another wedding; of being the bride, rather than the maid of honor.

The ring-bearer and flower girl advance slowly, a little unsure of all the attention at first and stunned by the flashbulbs. The flower girl is very serious as she tosses petals, but smiles as they flutter onto the white aisle runner. It's cute but excruciatingly slow. I wish they'd hurry up, because I know Bella is next. I can hardly wait. The six-year-olds make their way to the front of the church, and I offer high fives to them both as they take their places.

The music hits a crescendo; everyone stands. I rub my hand over my chest hoping to calm my thundering heart. Sweat collects on my neck as butterflies stir inside me.

And then I see her.

The world falls away. Any doubts planted by Jake and Jasper? Gone. My lips curve upwards. My heart drums. Bella, my beautiful Bella. The moment I see her, I tear up. It has little to do with the dress and more so with the realization that this is really happening. _Finally!_ I want her to run down the aisle toward me and become my wife.

Yet, her feet aren't moving. The bouquet in her grasp trembles. She's riveted to the floor. The flowers slip from her hands, tumble down the front of her dress, and land at her feet. She turns and flees, her dark hair and veil flying behind her. The thumping in my chest stops as my knees weaken. Charlie stands in the entryway, looking as dumbfounded as I feel. The gasps from our wedding guests reverberate against the stained glass. Little do I know, I will hear their gasps again and again when I'm tortured with this moment in the future.

I look over at Emmett who shrugs in confusion. The three bridesmaids exchange wide-eyed glances. I plaster a smile on my face and act as though chasing after my bride is completely normal. All eyes are on me as I walk down the rose-petal aisle. Whispers trail behind me.

Bella isn't in the church foyer, and the hallway is empty. I head outside. She sits on the front steps, her body quivering as the sobs escape from behind her hands. I sit down beside her.

"Hey." It's the only word I can pull from the chaos inside my head. I trace a crack in the cement with my index finger. It zig-zags over to Bella. She sniffles, and wipes the balls of her hands against her eyes. Black mascara smears across her cheeks, and she wipes her palms on her gown, transferring the black onto the white satin.

"I'm sorry," Bella whispers.

"It's okay. Take a minute. I guarantee those guests aren't going anywhere until there's a wedding."

She shakes her head, lips pursed into a frown. "There can't be a wedding."

A quiet snort escapes from me until I realize she isn't joking.

"What?"

Her fingers tug at her veil. It's stuck on a bobby pin or something, and she yanks at it, stretching her curls straight. I watch her struggle, powerless to help. Finally untangled, she balls up the tulle and tosses it aside.

"I can't marry you, Edward." She kicks off her shoes. Her feet are bare, toenails painted blue.

Her _something blue_.

My _something blue._

"Will you look at me? Please?" She does, those copper and honey-brown eyes spilling tears. My thumb catches them, pushes them away. "What's going on?"

"I love you, Edward. But I don't know if this is the Romeo and Juliet-love you forever-I'd die for you, kind of love. What if… Maybe…" Bella trips over her own words.

"What if _what_?" My brows scrunch together.

"What if we're not soulmates? What if there's someone else out there for you?"

Realization travels from my brain throughout my body. My fists curl, my jaw clenches, and my voice snares.

"You mean to say, what if there's someone else out there for _you._ "

The fact that she looks away is frightening. Besides my intestines knotting, my back stiffens. My voice is suspended in mid-air between us.

"Is there someone else?" My words threaten to asphyxiate me. She doesn't answer and refuses to look in my direction. "Bella?" Even though I'm waiting for an answer, there's only one I will accept.

A sound escapes her throat, and I want to believe it's an emphatic no, but she's nodding. Fucking _nodding_. Her curls fall forward, hiding her face, which I can't stomach anymore. Tears burn my eyes. Bella is talking, but there's a whooshing in my ears, and I only hear snippets of what she's saying. She's sorry. She never meant for any of this to happen. She wishes she would have told me sooner.

She hopes I can forgive her.

I'm about to throw up.

"Who is it?" I yank the stupid bowtie off, but my throat is still constricted.

"Who's _who_?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "The guy — who is it?"

She shakes her head. "No one you'd know."

"Bullshit! Is it James from work? Peter? It's fucking Garrett, isn't it?"

"It doesn't matter, Edward."

"It matters to me!"

Bella croaks a name, but I hear her loud and clear. I envision fifty ways to make James die—none of them are pleasant.

"How long?" I clear my throat before I ask the question I don't want to know the answer to. "How long have you two been… been… " I can't finish. My hands drag through my hair.

"We haven't," she says. I blow out what little breath I have left in my lungs at the small consolation prize. And then she slides a knife into my gut. " _Yet_."

Those butterflies I felt in my stomach earlier? They just died.

"Do you love him?"

Bella replies with a shrug and a shake of her head.

"You're willing to throw away everything we have for something completely unknown?"

"I don't know, okay?" Her voice rises.

"Why the fuck are you pissed off?" I demand.

"I wasn't expecting an interrogation."

"You thought I'd be okay with this? Let you walk away from me without answering any fucking questions? I'm a lot of things, Bella, but I'm not a fucking idiot."

She places her hand on my arm. I flinch and she withdraws it, but where her fingers touched still stings.

"Edward." The way she says my name, her voice like saccharin, is genuine. It breaks my heart a little more. "I'm so, so sorry. James and I, we were working on that project together, remember?"

Of course I remember. Weeks of overtime, my calls going unanswered, promises that everything would go back to normal when the project was done. And it did.

At least, I thought it did.

"There's _something_ between us. I can't ignore it." Bella continues talking and I hear her, but I'm unable to comprehend anything. The words are foreign and make no sense.

I watch a bug by my feet. It walks left, cocks its head, walks right, and cocks its head again; over and over. His zig-zag approach is so he can visualize targets or danger. He's alert; _en garde_. I lift my foot, and the bug flattens under the weight of my sole. Dead before he knows what hit him. Completely blindsided.

I know exactly how it feels.

I point inside the church. "What am I supposed to tell everyone in there?"

"Tell them I'm a horrible person, because I am."

She is, she really is. But I fucking love her. Even now, with my heart obliterated and splayed on the sidewalk, I still love her.

"I'm going to… I should probably go."

Bella stands and my anger gives way to desperation. I reach out and catch hold of her dress. I shake my head, tears drip from my eyes, and I beg, fucking _beg_ her to stay. As futile as trying to empty the ocean into a thimble, I try to change her mind.

"Bella, don't do this. _Please_. We don't have to get married today. I can wait. I will. Just please don't leave me."

Like a mother frees herself from her child's desperate clutches, she peels my fingers one by one off the silk of her skirt.

"I'm so sorry." She holds my hands in hers and stares into my eyes. "You're going to be okay, Edward."

I shake my head. I won't be okay. I don't think I'll ever be okay again. Bella releases my hands. She says nothing as she gathers her shoes and her veil. I watch her leave. She walks away from me, her heels in one hand and my heart in the other. The train of her dress drags on the sidewalk behind her.

She keeps walking and doesn't look back.

Memories wash over me; from a five-year-old's crush to the crushing pain in my chest. Bella, the girl whose name alone makes me smile, the woman I lost my virginity to on a rain-soaked Sunday afternoon, is disappearing from view. The kaleidoscope of memories all come back. But she never does.


End file.
